


And she hungered no longer, for she was blessed (cursed).

by galacticMouse_Mouse_413



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Death, Endless Cycles, Gore??, Mentions of them anyway - Freeform, Past Lives, Reincarnation, idk what else to tag, mentions of theft, uhh, violence??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 01:30:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14321586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticMouse_Mouse_413/pseuds/galacticMouse_Mouse_413
Summary: Otherwise known as Saemin's curse.





	And she hungered no longer, for she was blessed (cursed).

**Author's Note:**

> This is lore for an OC of mine!! Posting it for a group lmao...
> 
> To the group members reading this, hope you like it >:3c

Saemin is known to many, as the wild girl that came from the roots of Gigi Jungle itself. Birthed from the land, she is apart of the Gigi Jungle as the trees, the rocks, and the water, a constant fixture to its roots for the last 12 years. She is the trapper’s menace, the uncivilized wild girl with more justice in her veins than any other being alive. She is the eerie glow of the beasts eyes in the undergrowth, and she is the terrifying howls of the wolves crying their rage and their grief to the moon above. To the people of N’omadsha, she has always been there.    
  
But the same could be said for Minsun.

Minsun is known as the aristocrat, the revolutionary that shook an empire to its core. She was the champion of the people, and she too, had suddenly appeared, as if the life breathed into her lungs was the will of the land itself. She was the jaunty step, the refined sway of hips. She was intelligence like none had ever seen, she was knowledge that none have ever borne witness. She was the voice that as quiet as it was, boomed in the halls of the high and mighty and political, and she spoke the words of the people. She had always been there, up until she was gone at age 27-- she had served the people for 22 years.   
  
But the same could be said for Sunmi.   
  
She was a monarch, a graceful entity that lived for the glory of her kingdom and its people. She was the gentle song, the unwavering hand, the Queen of All. Not a single war was fought in her reign-- no conflict arose, and these peaceful sentiments lasted for years. She brought peace and prosperity to the land, one that would reign for years until the Cataclysm itself, only broken 30 years later on the anniversary of her disappearance. To the people, Sunmi was as constant as the shift in the tides-- she would never truly be gone.   
  
But the same could be said for Miyoung.   
  


She was a warrior, of the lowest caste, but she would shift the whole system with the sheer weight of her power. She was the spearhead of armies, of revolutions, she was the stronghold and the lionheart, she was undefeated, and she would fight valiantly for what was hers. Until, as suddenly as she had appeared, borne from the ashes of war, with blood of the fallen running in her veins, she was gone, stolen in the chaos of the battlefield that many had called her birthright. She was always there-- until she wasn’t.   
  
But the same could be said for Younghae.   
  
She was the phantom in the night-- she usurped monarchs and defied nobles. She stole their most valuable items, and she gave those riches to the people of the slums. To them, it was the night that had breathed life into her lungs-- this ghost, this rampant thief that never stole from them. She slipped through fingers finer than silt, finer than sand, she sliced at the throat of the greedily rich with no more remorse than crushing a bug beneath her boot, and she used their blood to feed the veins of the poor, of the hungry, of the homeless. Until she stole away into the night, the flickering shadows of every corner devouring her visage as quickly as they had spit her out. Yet she would never truly leave.   
  
But the same could be said for Haesoo.

Haesoo, the gentlest of souls, the witch with life’s touch running through her fingertips-- she was life. The fates had gifted her to the people to mend the deep gouges in its earth, to breathe life into its soil, into its citizens. Where her feet danced, flowers grew, where she sighed, sweet winds blew. Her tears left ponds in their wake, ponds that would become springs that would bring in wild pokemon from near and far. She was the temple goddess, the mother of many children who had no children of her own. She would always be there, until she wasn’t-- until with her last breath she breathed eternal spring onto the rolling hills, and she disappeared with the fall that would never come. It is said you can hear her sing her song, deep within the recesses of the place she called home.   
  
But the same could be said for Soohee.

She was the savage, wild spirit of the seas-- she was the one who carved gouges into the waters of the world, and roared her ire until the broiled with her madness. She was the one who breathed in salt water and breathed out seafoam, she was the one that the spirits of the depths would bend over backwards for her will. In her eyes, were constellations, and she was the one who traced guiding stars into the blue-black veil of midnight. She was the guide post, she was the spotlight, she was the call that brought hope into the hearts of shipwrecked men. She was everything to the people, even after the sea that had birthed her reached to retrieve what it had left behind, when she disappeared into its murky depths with a haughty laugh and a coy smile, and yet, the people feel as though she had never truly left.   
  
But the same could be said for

 

Now.

 

Who might  _ you _ be?

 

You are a small girl, no older than five. You have no name-- but you crave one. You have found a necklace, and it has asked you devour names, to find and take names and titles and take and take and take and you are tired. Once a crumbling collar, it now radiates with a golden sheen, the metal welded to your skin, alive with power of the names a pulsing with _hate_. You are tired. You wish to give. You are so hungry and you wish dearly to be full. The pup that lies at your feet is weak from attempting to keep up with your harrowing travels, with the pull of your hunger that cannot be sated.  
  
You wish for _peace_ , and to be able to _give_ , to be _full._

Your wish is granted.

You are given a name.

You are forbidden to take.

You are only allowed to give.

And that is okay.

With this blessing ~~_(i_~~ ~~_ t’s a curse you don’t know it yet but it’s a curse _ ~~ ~~_)_~~ your life never ends.

You never, ever, truly leave.


End file.
